


A Rotten Apple

by unspeakable3



Series: Walburga [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family Drama (Harry Potter), Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Harry and Ginny Discord's Prompt Posse, POV Walburga Black, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Prophetic Dreams, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unspeakable3/pseuds/unspeakable3
Summary: What was a Grim, against one such as her?
Relationships: Orion Black & Sirius Black, Orion Black/Walburga Black, Sirius Black & Black Family, Sirius Black & Walburga Black
Series: Walburga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114058
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	A Rotten Apple

The moon shone brightly, this late February night. As she stepped out into the garden, her bare feet sinking into the dewy grass, Walburga heard a wolf howling in the distance. A lesser witch might have been afraid, but not she; no beast would ever dare approach a Black, no matter how full the moon. A Black was not afraid.

She raised her eyes to the unusually clear sky and searched for her son’s namesake. That brightest of stars was not difficult to find; it dazzled, as her son would surely dazzle, making all others seem duller, less interesting, by comparison.

 _“Sirius_ ,” she whispered. “ _My son._ ”

A dark cloud passed over both the stars and the moon, casting Walburga and the garden into darkness. Still she was not afraid; a Black was raised with Darkness as a nursemaid. A Black learned to harness the power of Nyx, daughter of Chaos, before she could walk. A Black was not afraid.

She heard the fluttering of wings and turned her head. Her eyes, trained to see despite the absence of light, discerned the outline of a large bird. A crow, perhaps. The bird let out a croaking caw. Not a crow - a raven.

And then there was a deep rumbling in the sky, like one of the great gods rolling over in his sleep. The sky seemed to darken yet further and a flash of heaven-sent lightning lit up the garden once more. In the centre, where the hydra-emblazoned fountain normally stood, was a baby’s pram and, sitting guard beside it, a great black dog. The Grim.

Walburga clenched her jaw, but she did not step back. What was a Grim, against one such as her? Against the culmination of so many generations of pure, noble, powerful witches? A Black was not afraid.

Thunder struck. It did not hit the pram, nor the Grim, nor Walburga. It struck the tall oak tree at the far end of the garden, the oak tree that had grown strong for centuries, the oak tree that she, Walburga, had carved her initials into with a silver knife as a child when she had first determined that she would marry her cousin and become Mistress to this Noble and Most Ancient House.

A heavy branch fell, severed from the tree. Walburga did not move. Another bolt of lightning hit the tree and cleaved it almost entirely in two. Walburga did not move. A third, and the oak tree was set ablaze.

“ _Sirius,_ ” she whispered. “ _My son._ ”

Walburga stepped forward. The raven screamed and flapped its wings. The Grim snarled, its ears flattened, teeth exposed, muscles tense and poised to strike. Walburga ignored it; a Black was not afraid.

She strode towards the pram and had almost reached her hand out to the handlebar when the Grim leapt at her, its jaws wide. No sooner had it sank its teeth into the soft white flesh of her thigh than her wand was in her hand.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

A flash of green brighter than the oak tree’s flames, brighter even than Zeus’s thunderbolts, struck the Grim. It slumped sideways, falling to the floor with a soft thud, its black fur rippling in the breeze.

Walburga didn’t spare it a second glance. She reached the pram and pulled back its dark hood but the baby wasn’t there. She let out a dread scream; sitting where her son, her Sirius, should have been was a rotten apple crawling with maggots.

For once, just this once, a Black was afraid.

—

Walburga awoke, breathless, her pale skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

“KREACHER!” she yelled.

The faithful house-elf appeared immediately at her bedside and bowed his head in deference.

“Kreacher is here to serve his Mistress in whichever—”

“My slippers and housecoat. And a candle. _Now_.”

Kreacher bowed again; with a click of his fingers the desired items had appeared. Walburga swung her legs out of bed - the house-elf tilted his head to the side so he might not see that his mistress was trembling - thrust her feet into her slippers and wrapped her housecoat tightly around herself. She snatched the proffered candle and stalked out of her bedroom, across the landing, and into her husband’s study.

Walburga ensconced the candle into the silver holder on the desk and set about summoning every book on Oneiromancy that the Blacks’ ancestral home held within its fortified walls. She was rifling through her husband’s meticulous stacks of parchment for a blank sheet when he walked into the room and stood watching her, just inside the doorway.

“Walburga,” he said, carefully.

“What.”

“It is past three in the morning—”

“Congratulations, you have finally learnt to read a clock. Your father must be so proud.”

He came closer, deposited his own candle on the desk, and tentatively placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. She tensed immediately at his touch.

“The dream, again?” he asked.

“No, I am awake in the middle of the night for the sheer fun of it.”

“Perhaps you ought to consider—”

“I will not let you bully me into consulting a Seer,” she snapped, shrugging his hand off her shoulder. “They will do nothing more than take my gold and tell me what they think I wish to hear.”

“It’s been months, Walburga.”

“I am well aware of that, _Orion_. I am the one that has to suffer through the damned things.”

“Perhaps a Healer. You have suffered these dreams ever since Sirius—”

“They have nothing to do with Sirius!” she insisted, her voice shrill. “ _Nothing!_ ”

Orion looked down at the pile of books that now scattered his desk. He reached for the nearest one but Walburga was quicker and snatched it away; he took her hand and carefully prised it from her grip.

Walburga folded her arms across her chest and turned to look out of the window, her bottom lip sticking out in a sulk. The moon was shining brightly, illuminating the tall oak tree at the bottom of the garden. It wasn’t visible at night, but she knew the scorch mark as well as if it had been scorched onto her own heart; the tree, marked by a thunderstorm the night her son had entered this world.

“Walburga…” Orion said slowly. “I really do think we ought to consult someone about this.”

She turned back to her husband and found him frowning at one of the pages she had marked before; last night or last week or last month, she could no longer remember. But she didn’t need to read the page; _that_ she had memorised.

_A thunderstorm is a sign of an impending catastrophe, a shock, a loss, or an overwhelming struggle. It signifies anger, rage, and inner - or outer - turmoil._

“I will not have some— some _mudblood harpy_ interfering in my personal business!”

Orion rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“These are not good omens, Walburga,” he said, his voice strained. “I know that you thought the storm was a sign that Sirius would be strong, and powerful—”

“He will be!” she shrieked. “He is _my son!_ ”

“And he is _my heir!_ ” Orion said, raising his voice to match his wife’s.

They glared at each other for a minute or more, both breathing heavily, pulses pounding. Distantly, from two floors above, the baby cried. Orion looked away first.

“I am merely trying to express my concern,” he said, more calmly. “And determine the best way to proceed.”

“The best way to proceed is _not_ to involve other people in our _private_ family affairs,” Walburga replied, her eyes still blazing.

“It is late,” Orion sighed. “We will continue this discussion in the morning. Good night.”

She watched him leave, watched him walk out of the study and across the hallway and disappear into the bedroom next to hers. She let out a great exhale of breath and slumped to the floor, curled her knees up to her chest and leaned her shoulder against the desk.

Nobody else could know - nobody else in the _family_ let alone a damned _Seer_ could know this weakness of hers. Nobody else could know that her nights were filled with terrible dreams, visions, premonitions of a war to come. Nobody else could know that all the signs pointed to disloyalty, betrayal, destruction, and death, all within the walls of the Blacks’ ancestral home.

Nobody, not even her husband, could know that Walburga Black was afraid.

**Author's Note:**

> (written for the Hinny discord Prompt Posse #5: do you have any dreams that recur? Why do you think you continue to have that dream?)


End file.
